


Broken

by skeevyskeeve



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen, Heavy Angst, Mentions of vomit(just in case)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1533989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeevyskeeve/pseuds/skeevyskeeve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grieving the loss of a lover is never easy, especially alone. Some days are just so much harder than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teki10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teki10/gifts).



Yance was gone. Gone, gone. That fucking kaiju monstrosity Knifehead had ripped him right out of the console. Right out of his brother’s head while they were connected. Right out of Tendo’s life forever. He was gone. And it hurt like nothing had ever hurt before.

It was really no wonder that the tech kept to his room as much as he could. The whole first week after Knifehead one would either find him at Raleigh’s bedside to console him, or in his room, death grip on the Gipsy Danger bomber jacket that Rals said Yance would have wanted him to have, body wracked with sobs and wheezes and heart-wrenching pained cries for the lover he’d never see again. The lover he’d never hold again.

Of course, even after the first week, this didn’t change. Even after Rals was upright and able to speak again, able to leave the Shatterdome, and Tendo, behind, the officer would still push his arms into the sleeves of that jacket when he laid down. Not to sleep, but to rest. Even while completely exhausted and so terribly emotionally drained, he couldn’t sleep. He’d have those all too vivid nightmares of sitting, eyes-wide at the console as Yance’s vitals disappeared from the screen, helpless to do anything. Or the ones where he had a front row seat and Yance was getting yanked out of Gipsy’s head and slowly eaten by that fucking kaiju.

But if he didn’t have nightmares that had him screaming and sobbing his way back to consciousness, he’d have terribly good dreams about his lover. The moments they shared in the past, sharing food, taking selfies, sweet kisses all over, and the more intimate encounters. All that would have him waking to a world where Yance was still gone. Waking to an empty bed and an empty life and all he could do was curl into the fetal position in that bomber jacket, whimper and sob as he held tight to that worn leather that somehow still smelled of Yance’s cologne and natural musk. It was those days that he wouldn’t go into work. And it was those days that Pentecost took his place in LOCCENT without question or a second thought.

Those days, though…they never ended well. He’d stay in bed for hours, crying until he couldn’t anymore before just numbly laying in that jacket. He wouldn’t get up to shower, or dress. Not to eat or drink. After a couple hours, he’d find it in himself to sit up, to pull his legs together in front of himself to sit cross-legged, drowning in the jacket that was at least three sizes too big. And he’d just sit there, leaning back against the wall and staring at the ceiling, or leaning forward with his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, the soft cuff at the end of a leather sleeve pressing lines into his skin. Nothing interested him. Nothing would. Usually there wasn’t even a solid thought in his head the first hour or so, but eventually his thoughts would turn back to Yance, but he’d still be too numb to cry again just yet.

He’d crawl forward then, getting to the outside edge of his bed in order to reach under it, pulling out a large leather bound book and a fair sized, rectangular box. He’d settle back into place with the box next to him and the book in his lap, drawing in a deep breath as he pulled the cover open. He knew what was on the first page. It was always on the first page. That photo, outlined in white, Yance grinning up at him, arm around his shoulders in the photo, both of them looking so happy. He remembered that day like it was yesterday and had to close his eyes to steady himself again.

He’d spend the next few hours of the day going through the book, half-heartedly laughing as he remembered the situations of each, smiling fondly at the moments he managed to capture of both the Becket goofing off, remembering their teases and their laughter and how, despite the kaiju and the situations they were all in, they managed to stay so upbeat. So happy.

He’d reach the end of the pictures in the book, coming to the start of the blank pages that hadn’t yet been filled in, pushing away the heartache that he felt knowing that he was never getting new pictures of the happiness. He’d turn his attention to the box next to him, almost reverently pulling the lid off to set aside before running his fingers over the seemingly hundreds of photos lined up in wait, next to the tape, glue and small pair of scissors kept at the head of them. Taking another deep breath, he’d scoop up a stack of probably twenty photos, flipping through them with half-lidded eyes and a barely there smile as he basked in Yance’s almost trademark grin. Feeling the prickle in his eyes again, he’d pulled a shaky breath in, letting the photos rest in his lap as he tilted his head back, looking to the ceiling. He could do this, he knew he could.

Swallowing hard and regaining his composure, the broken man looked back to the photos, starting to lay them out all around him, pairing them off or grouping them, comparing quality and content to decide which would go onto the next blank pages. He found himself unable to choose, however, his heart aching at the thought of turning away /any/ photo of Yancy. They were all important. He wound up with a bed, and a lap, completely covered in photos, and his jaw shook as he fought back the tears once more, looking around at all of them and wishing those happy days were within his grasp again. But they never would be again. There weren’t going to be any more photos to take of bright smiles and laughing faces. No more goofing off with the Beckets. Yance was gone forever. And Rals was gone too, for what Tendo could only assume was forever.

He picked up a picture that was centered on Rals then, Yancy behind him and ducking down, but giving him mock antlers with his fingers up behind his head and Rals was just grinning, unaware. The tech looked over the ranger’s expression and features, just wishing he could see that genuine smile back on his face after all this. As long as Raleigh was okay. He had to take care of him. For Yance. He knew. It hurt his heart, though, thinking of Raleigh after he’d willing left the Shatterdome. He knew it was for his own good, but there wasn’t going to be anyone who understood the pain like Raleigh would. The pain that Yancy Becket was lost to them. There wasn’t going to be anyone to console him. What a selfish thought, but really, how was he supposed to get over this if no one around could even begin to understand? Why had Raleigh left him like this? Why did he leave him all alone? How could he do that?

Tendo grit his teeth together painfully tight as his eyes watered, blurring his vision of the photo in his shaking hand. Why didn’t Raleigh stop to think about him? His feelings? How broken he was? He lost a brother, his other half, his drift partner, yes, but Tendo lost the man he loved so dearly; the man who made him smile even when he didn’t feel like it, the man who would hold him through the night when all he could think about was the pilots who’d died, the man who was there for him at the drop of a dime no matter how inconvenient, the man who gave him his dogtags as a promise. The man who brought the light into his world. How was he expected to get through this alone? Why couldn’t Raleigh have just stayed?

Letting out a long, frustrated and pained scream at the feelings, the tech crumpled the photo and threw it across the room, but it wasn’t enough. Screaming through once more grit teeth, he scooped his arms under all the photos on his bed, the book and the box and swiped them away. He sent them all flying to the floor, scattering everywhere, coating the metal grating in his past happiness that he felt would never, ever come again. He grabbed his pillow and chucked it after them at one last bout of anger struck him, but just as it hit the photos and slid, spreading them even father, the man let out a strangled sob, wrapping his arms around his stomach, gripping tight at his sides and the bomber jacket around him as he doubled over.

He was upset. Torn and broken. But mostly now, he was mad at himself. This was not Raleigh’s fault and he knew it. It made him sick to his stomach to think he’d even felt that way for a second. He gulped back a sob, curling in on himself more as he felt the gag at the back of his throat. How could he ever think that about Raleigh? How could he? He scrambled to get off his bed then, feet catching in his thin blanket to send him collapsing to the floor, struggling to free himself before quickly crawling over to his desk and to the trash can under it, barely reaching it to stick his head in before he was retching. His throat burned from the pure bile of having not eaten since the afternoon of the previous day, but he felt he deserved it. His cry echoed into the can, amplified and hollow sounding, as he hugged it to his chest.

And that was it. Sitting on the floor, pathetically crying into a trashcan he’d just emptied his stomach into, he realized he shouldn’t be alone. Not in the previous way of wanting Raleigh to have stayed but in the way that, if he stayed there, in that room, alone with just those pictures and those memories, he’d do something drastic. And Yancy would not want that kind of end for him, no matter how desperate they were for each other.

Shoving the trash can back into its place, he used his desk to get to his feet, legs weak and knees shaking. He was only in sleep pants with the PPDC logo at his hip and Yance’s jacket, but he didn’t care. His barefeet moved over the photos, careful not to slip but not thinking about it otherwise as he made his way to the door. He was upset with himself from how feeble he was at the moment, having to throw his whole body weight into opening and reclosing the door behind himself. He did his best not to run down the hall, knowing he’d end up on his face in no time from how messed up his equilibrium was from the crying, screaming and vomiting, but he did move quickly.

With as distraught as he still was, the tech was surprised he’d only taking one wrong turn on his way, though easily making up for the lost time with a shortcut. It was only a few minutes before he was standing outside the door to another’s barracks, standing on the short stoop and hesitating. By now, it was the middle of the night, so he could potentially be waking the occupant, and he already felt guilt ridden from how much he needed comfort right then and hadn’t wanted to burden anyone with it, but…he just couldn’t be alone right now. He pushed through his reluctance and knocked, expecting to knock softly and only a couple times, but as his body registered what he was knocking for, his hand didn’t halt. He kept knocking and knocking, pace and strength behind his fist picking up as his eyes prickled again, face falling into desperation.

By the time the door pulled open, his white knuckles were red, the skin starting to crack and bleed in places and he could only sob in relief that the door wasn’t there any more. He knew he would have kept knocking. He turned his broken gaze up to the man who’d answered then.

**"Mr. Choi?"**  the concern that filled that earthy Australian tone made the tech whimper, head dropping forward as he let his hand fall. He couldn’t bare to look at Herc, knowing from his face he’d woken him up and feeling guilty once more. Drowning in the sleep pants and the tell-tale Gipsy Danger jacket with hair messed and in his face, and crying on the man’s doorstep, even having just woken him up, it was only a blink’s worth of time before Herc was pulling him into his arms, holding him firmly against himself. He said nothing, knew he didn’t have to, as Tendo openly sobbed then, clinging to the half naked, far larger man as his body threatened to collapse. And they’d stay like that, in the doorway, as long as he needed them to, before Herc would silently take the broken man into his room, to his bed to hold through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Art to accompany the end, [found here.](http://skeeves-right-brain.tumblr.com/post/84080722638/)


End file.
